


Put A Ring On It

by Dangersocks



Series: Nice Ice Baby [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mafia AU, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki has claimed ownership of Viktor. But a few more gestures may be required before that's understood as Law.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maiden_of_the_Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon/gifts).



> Taking place immediately after the events in [The Hunt for Red Sucktober](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9453137).
> 
>  **Trigger warning** : This story implies non-consensual, under-aged sex. Later chapters will have violence. 
> 
> This was not edited outside of myself, so if there are distracting errors I'll gratefully hear from you to fix them. 
> 
> The story is in four chapters, all of which are fully drafted and just need to be proof-read. Expect the full story by the end of the week. Credit to [Maiden_of_the_Moon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon) for her help in co-writing the upcoming sex scene. This is an odd piece that was created in parts and put together like a quilt so it may read with different flow. I hope that proves more refreshing than annoying.
> 
> *

“There are extra blankets at the end of the hall.”

 

Yuri Plisetsky refrains from asking whether those spare sheets will smell as stale as the ones they have already given him. He would be glad to share the thought. He is irritated enough, but his stitches have only just been applied and the woman looming in his doorway looks ready to reopen them.

 

“Mari? Did you tell him about the blankets?”

 

His host -- or jailer, depending on how long they plan to keep him here -- leans against the door frame. “He knows about the blankets,” she calls up the hall to the distant, disembodied voice.

 

“Did he get enough to eat?”

 

“He’s not hungry,” Mari answers, though she has not bothered to see if this is so. 

 

In truth, the teenager  _ could _ have eaten another pork cutlet bowl. The one he had picked over had been delicious, despite his appetite being small while stitches were sewn into his arm and hostile eyes were honed on him.

 

Well,  _ most _ of the eyes had been hostile. The eldest Katsuki family members seemed nice. Drunk father, though he had handled Yuri’s arm with a skill that did not require soberness. The man was too chatty for someone in any position of authority, though. His wife also seemed too kind to be in charge. Were their kids adopted? Mari hates Yuri. And the other fucking offspring -- who shared a damn name with Yuri -- had been a smug bastard all evening. Constantly touching or ordering Viktor around. Looking at their unwelcome visitor while he did so. It was enough to make anyone want to barf. 

 

That earlier nausea had not departed easily. After bandaging, there had been the hot spring. Yuri had relented to the location, despite having no intention of undressing in front of these assholes. Viktor would know why.

 

Viktor. 

 

_ Damn _ Viktor Nikiforov.

 

The older Russian had gotten them privacy. They had sat together outside of an empty pool with trouser legs rolled up and feet soaking. 

 

And they talked in the dizzying humidity.

 

Viktor.

 

Damn  _ defecting _ Viktor, selfishly staying even  _ after _ Yuri had said his piece. It is  _ so important  _ for the other to return, and he’s staying for  _ fucking _ Yuuri Katsuki.

 

Fuck.

 

_ ‘Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. You’re safe here,’  _ the double-crossing Russian had promised.

 

Only Viktor doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Mari is a beast. 

 

“Stay in your room,” she orders. “If you so much as raise a hand to my brother again, I’ll put my cigarettes out in your eyes.”

 

“Big talk from a glorified housekeeper,” Yuri growls, unimpressed. “I’m Yuri Plisetsky, the best of the Russian Tigers.”

 

“You’re Yurio the baby cat,” she counters, shutting off the light. “Leopards eat little tigers.” 

 

Left in the dark, the teenager pulls a face at her.

 

This fucking place. This stupid room without a bed. This crazy-ass family. He fumes, before pulling out his phone to look up whether or not leopards really do eat tigers. 

 

It’s something about cats that he did not know.

 

-

 

Once upon a time, Yuri’s mother had been useful for the Russian mob. Then, like most women, one day she was not. During her employment, she had chosen to see one pregnancy through. That brought her father back into her life and for a little while, they were a family.

 

All things made with love, though, have an end. Like the love found on ice, the surface will eventually melt, becoming incapable of supporting the dancers upon it. Like inspiration found through Yuuri’s Ice, all highs eventually become lows. There is a cost to love.

 

Viktor’s seen it before. Paid it before. He’s even cheated it a few times. He’s ready for one last long game of it, but Viktor is not stupid. He’s well aware that Yuuri Katsuki might ultimately refuse him. It had been an unpleasant thought to have during his talk with Yuri. It comes to mind again as he knocks on  _ his _ Yuuri’s door.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s me,” Viktor announces. 

 

Something clatters. A second later, Yuuri opens the door. He is in his housecoat while blocking the entranceway. Viktor is tall enough to see the laptop with a sweater draped across it. 

 

“What?” repeats the kingpin.

 

Viktor withdraws, averting his eyes from what the other indicates that he wants kept private. The smallest shift gives the one he loves his space. After all of their flirting tonight, after Yuuri declaring on the train platform that he owned Viktor, the Russian now wonders how presumptuous he himself had been. “I thought…” He trails off.

 

“I have a lot of work to do,” Yuuri states. It might be an apology, but it does not sound like one. “I have an order to pick up tomorrow. Sisko is still not happy with arrangements, and I’ll need to make plans with Yakov regarding our  _ visitor _ .”

 

At the mention of former comrades, Viktor finds it easier to let go of the imminent disappointment of what appears to be another night alone. “Is he staying?”

 

Yuuri snorts. “Not if I can help it. Yakov offered me money to keep him.”

 

“You didn’t take up that offer?”

 

“I already have one Russian,” Yuuri answers. 

 

And here, a perfect opportunity for each of them; Yuuri to invite Viktor in. Viktor to share what he knows.

 

“Good night, Viktor.”

 

“Yes. You too, then.”

 

Viktor knows what happened to Yuri Plisetsky’s mother. How the youth protects what family he has left, and how it brings Yuri precisely back to where she had started. Everyone in Viktor’s former circle knew the little hellraiser, who picked fights and took names and started fires. And they knew Yakov had been lucky with the skating, attempting to reign in the fiery creature before he got himself killed or brought unwanted attention to their world. The sport was meant to distract the boy and keep him close to Yakov’s control, but through it Yuri had found a field worth dominating. An art form alien to him, by which he could express himself. And finally, a contender who could not be beat. To strive for.

 

Yuri had started chasing after Viktor.

 

A little too well, it seems. 

 

-

 

“They brought in Lilia.” Yuri fidgets with the dressing on his forearm. A foot kicks in the water. The ripples are swollen. Shallow. They do not go far, but Viktor feels the current against his own ankles.

 

“I see,” murmurs the older Russian.

 

“You  _ have _ to go back. If you return and you do the job  _ you’re _ supposed to do for the family,  _ I _ won’t have to train to do those kinds of jobs.” 

 

“Yuri, you cannot replace me. No…” Viktor frowns and braces on his hands, searching the stars as if they had the answers. “I mean to say, Yakov isn’t trying to replace me. I’m old.”

 

“I’m  _ fifteen _ ,” counters the other. 

 

“I’m aware of that.”

 

“Nobody is going to fall for any of Yakov’s ploys from someone my age.”

 

Viktor sighs, shifting over and putting an arm around the other. He feels a stiffness in reply, but the kid doesn’t pull away. “You already know it does not matter if I return. Yakov is not thinking of the clients I used to keep. He does not need to target those I once specialized in. I will not deny that we live in a very troublesome world.”

 

“I will just skate harder,” Yuri snaps. “There’s no reason I can’t win the Prix if you’re being a selfish idiot.”

 

“It is not about the gold medals,” Viktor hums. “Nor the titles or the trophies. You know those do little for the family beyond Yakov’s pride, and the gambling of his friends. You skate well enough that it has put you in the spotlight. The sport is simply advertising. And I’m sure you could win Prix. That would play very nicely into what Yakov and Lilia desire.”

 

Yuri slaps away the arm on his shoulder, hissing, “I am _ not like you.” _

 

“That is the point, Yuri. That is why you are ideal for Yakov’s purposes. I am malleable. Flexible. You are raw and you are angry and too many people in high positions want that in a plaything. They have things Yakov would love to manipulate or steal. They have power, and those with power desire to break things. The more resilient and beautiful, the more they are attracted to it.”

 

“That’s sick.”

 

Viktor drops his gaze. “I know.”

 

“It’s not going to happen.”

 

“Did you think this through?” Viktor asks. He crosses his ankles in the warm water. “When you came here, did you  _ really _ think this through?” When Yuri does not answer, Viktor inquires, “Did you make plans for your grandfather?”

 

“No,” Yuri mutters.

 

“Don’t feel bad. I left without much planning, either. Though I certainly didn’t leave collateral.”

 

“I’m not asking for help from Yuuri fucking Katsuki,” snarls Yuri.

 

“Then please consider your situation,” Viktor says, not unkindly. “Lilia is very good. And the fact that Yakov brought her in should indicate to you how serious he is about his plans. But she is not your enemy, Yuri. She will show you how to survive. How to lead on the predators, and when to be yourself. When to resist. When to fold. When to appear broken. They’re not setting you up to fail. They’re training you to do what I never could. You’re being groomed into an assassin. You’ll bring ruin to those who think they can ruin you.”

 

“I’m fifteen,” Yuri repeats. 

 

“I know.”

 

“You need to go back. You should be the one telling Yakov that he has to wait until I’m older.”

 

“You know Yakov listens to me as much as I listen to him. He doesn’t want anyone older. Your age is an asset that those targets want. I’m also not going back.”

 

“Why? Because you’re in love with some failed Japanese skater?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“He doesn’t love you back.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You’re just the property of someone else now.”

 

Viktor watches the sky, ignoring the loathing in the other’s words. As if they were discussing something different, like routines and later competitions.

 

_ There _ .

 

Yuri cannot see it and Viktor does not point it out. Drifting across the void is a shape. Grey. Elusive. Probably a gull in the night. It is too hard to explain what that means to the youth who has known different hardships. But Yuri is well on his way to understanding just  _ why _ he fears the path ahead. And why Viktor will not go back, even if his heart is broken one last time should he stay. Things  _ are _ the same here, like the gulls over Hasetsu. Each of them are trying to find a way to cheat the costs of living. Each of them left whining their distress against the wind. The struggle helps them find the updraft, though. Teaches them to glide. To dance. To fly.

 

Lilia will make something beautiful of Yuri. He’ll be dangerous, more than Viktor ever could have been.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Yuri could find someone to make him happy.

 

_ ‘Perhaps we should have run away long before, Makkachin. Nothing is free in the world, but here it at least seems that the exchange rate is kinder.’ _

 

“The exchange rate is kinder here,” Viktor murmurs, echoing the thought.

 

“What?”

 

He pats the young Russian’s arm -- the one not bundled in gauze. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. You’re safe here.”

 

-

 

Yuuri pulls the sweater off of the laptop. He hopes Viktor had not noticed the hasty hide. 

 

No.

 

He should stop worrying about how stupid he looks. He should put his posters back on the wall and cease his second-guessing over what Viktor thinks. He owns Viktor. Is that not enough to leave him at ease?

 

He can admit that he is still annoyed at the long talk shared by the two Russians. From what he had glimpsed through the door, the pair had been cozier than they had first appeared. 

 

“Stop it,” he orders to himself. He is not going to be jealous of the punk kid. 

 

Viktor is not leaving. Viktor doesn’t want to leave. It is clear that Viktor wants to stay.

 

He should have stayed tonight.

 

But Yuuri had not lied about his workload. Sisko is back to being a problem and if Yuuri had spent the night with the Russian, it would have been a matter of moments before he lost his cool. Before he melted into a mess of desperate subservience. He thinks that would be a mistake. 

 

He can forgive himself the nerves. He really can. Yuuri had been attacked tonight. His garbage can is full of bloody tissues despite being mostly certain that his nose is  _ not _ broken. He will have to find out what he’s doing about Plisetsky. Yakov had agreed to call in a day or two when things had settled down, apologetic about the inconvenience to his business partner. It seems the true reason for Viktor’s presence here remains a secret. 

 

Whatever choices Yuuri makes, they will not be influenced by any fear of the kid. Yuri  _ is _ just a kid. And he is far out of his depth. 

 

There is one more thing on the kingpin’s agenda. 

 

Yuuri wads up the sweater and throws it aside. The laptop has faithfully kept the website safe. There are rings. Gold. Expensive. Beautiful. And Yuuri absolutely does not want to risk spoiling the surprise for Viktor. He picks his purchase up tomorrow as soon as the transaction clears.

 

It’ll look perfect on his pet.

 

That helps with the regret. With playing Viktor along. With turning him away. 

 

It helps a great deal.

 

-

 

Over breakfast, Yuuri breaks the news to his family. “I have to take Sisko to the bank.”

 

“Again?” Mari grunts, glowering over the rim of her coffee. “I thought we fixed this.”

 

“One big payout should suffice,” the younger of the Katsuki sibling replies. He prods at his egg until it bleeds over his rice. “It’ll be the last time, I promise. Unless anyone wants to say otherwise?”

 

Clearly the invitation to speak is not meant to extend beyond the heads of house surrounding the table. Yuri Plisetsky, though, is the only other in the room and the four are speaking in English.

 

“You’re being extorted?” he surmises from the table beside theirs. “In Russia they send someone to fix that. Don’t tell me you have no one to defend your backbone here. If you even have that to defend.”

 

The commentary is a test. Without Viktor around, the younger Russian is free to poke at his keepers. Try their strengths and weaknesses, seeing what he can and cannot get away with. Perhaps he may even see what Viktor finds so appealing in his lover, though Yuuri highly doubts it. His words only earn him a rude gesture from the lazy sister; a flicker of an eyeroll from fucking Yuuri Katsuki, and a sympathetic smile from their mother who looks more concerned at the empty plate before her guest than at his disgusted judgement. 

 

“It’s complicated,” she says, holding out the tray with the rolled omelettes he’s been devouring. “We try to keep our neighbors happy, and Sisko’s been with us since the start.”

 

“Which is why this is so infuriating,” Mari moans. “Yeah, one more trip to the bank. Do you want me to take him?”

 

“I’ve got it,” Yuuri replies. He continues to ignore their nosy houseguest. It continues to annoy said guest.

 

“Do you want to take anyone?” Their father now, who had not been as asleep on the table as he first appeared. “You could get to know your new friend?”

 

“No,” the Yuu/ris simultaneously answer.

 

“Then Viktor?” asks Hiroko Katsuki.

 

“No,” Yuuri repeats. “Viktor stays here. I can handle it myself.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

When confronting a problem, it is important to be aware of the variables. One must control the elements long enough to exert the influence needed for a desired ending. For every outcome, there are rules to follow. When competitive in his former sport, Yuuri would function inside the regulations of figure skating. To win, certain components had to be met. The participants all perform within the rules, trying to work those components to their mass effect. Creating a drug and running a felonious family with expanded beneficiaries did come with shirking the law. But that realm also came with its own set of rules. 

 

Those rules are largely drafted and then enforced by the ones with the most to gain. And the most to lose. 

 

Yuuri Katsuki leaves the bath house shortly after breakfast. He takes only a fair sum of cash, a knapsack, and Viktor’s knife. 

 

Sleeping had helped since the disturbance the evening before. The Russian punk’s outbursts were nothing more now than background noise. 

 

Yuuri is exactly in the right mood for what needs to come next, and for that reason he does not want to have Viktor see him off.

 

He cannot see Viktor.

 

He walks the five minutes to Sisko’s door instead and knocks. 

 

Yuuri breathes in. Breathes out. In the shade of Sisko’s plum tree, the young kingpin remembers Viktor holding him after the last negotiation with the man. 

 

Yuuri’s mother had been right with assessing the situation. Sisko is older and remembers when the Katsukis weren’t involved in the business. There had been a time that old man Nishigori may have considered Ito Sisko as a worthy partner, but if Sisko had his way, he would ignore the rest of the town. And if he does not get his way, he will happily damn Hasetsu. 

 

Yuuri is not of Sisko’s generation. Yuuri also knows that he has lost more and more respect from the man with each compromise. With each offer for silence and cooperation. 

 

_ Ice is mine, though. I made it. _

 

And Yuuri is not going to risk his reward for an old man who regrets past decisions. 

 

Sisko’s daughter opens the door. “Katsuki.”

 

“Hello. I’ve come to see Ito.”

 

“We’ll be ready in a moment.”

 

Yuuri blinks, watching the first of his expectations waver. Like an early jump that is over-rotated, the points are shaved off. The programme threatens to lose its lustre. “I beg your pardon?”

 

She is Yuuri’s age. She stands in the doorway, leaving him on the step. “My fiance and I are coming with my father. He’s old. Felt more comfortable with us along.”

 

Yuuri bears her look, aware that he knows very little about her. Sisko lives alone, and his wife left him years ago. His daughter might not live in Hasetsu. He pushes his glasses up his nose and nods. “It’s very nice to see family taking care of one another.”

 

“Yes,” she agrees, sharing a weak smile. “I’ll tell papa you’re here. He said we were taking a drive north?”

 

Yuuri nods. “What I need to give Sisko is in Nagahoma. I’m willing to pay for the gas on the trip. There’s a stop we need to make in Yabiro along the way.”

 

“I would hope you’re picking up the gas,” she replies. “Nagahoma is so far.”

 

“I keep the bank we use distant from where we do our business.”

 

“Your business, yes,” she hums. “Well, we’ll be right out. Please wait by the car.”

 

The door shuts in Yuuri’s face and he continues to smile at it. His expression is vapid. Yuuri does not know who she is but now that they have made their impressions on one another, his plans do not have to change. 

 

A recovery, with momentum carrying the skater forward. Everyone sees the dancer as less than perfect. Meek. They underestimate him, and that means the surprises that follow could merit more of a success.

 

Damn Viktor. He has Yuuri thinking more and more about their sport.

 

Yuuri obeys the instructions from Sisko’s daughter, eyeing the Box Car that sits shining in the man’s driveway. It is best that Mari had not come. Yuuri’s sister might have been smashing in the windows already. The thought leaves the Japanese kingpin snorting when he pictures their feisty houseguest doing the same. 

 

That’s right. After everything, there will still be Yuri Plisetsky to deal with. 

Would Viktor’s prescribed temple or waterfall help? Maybe the Russians would go to the rink today. The girls would love that, so there was no point in denying the punk access to the place they produce the drug that Russia trades heavily for the exclusive rights in. 

 

While it would be an ideal opportunity to spy on the process, Yuuri is confident the younger brat is not here for that. He’s here for Viktor. He will not get Viktor, and just needs to come to terms with that. 

 

If it continues to be a problem, Yuuri will treat it as he does all problems. 

 

“Sisko.”

 

“Katsuki,” rumbles the man as he exits his house. His daughter takes his arm, though he does not require the help. Her fiance stands behind, a man so large that Yuuri wonders if he truly is engaged. 

 

“I came at the agreed upon time,” Yuuri replies, a slight warning in his voice.

 

“You came because you had to,” replies Sisko. He scowls, the first time he’s ever done so in Yuuri’s presence. He must be bolstered by his peers. “What’s this about an errand?”

 

“If you want what you have asked for, we need to go north. And along the way, I need to make a stop. It will be ten minutes at most. My duties are never-ending and you can thank your income for how diligent those duties are seen through.”

 

Sisko clears his throat. “You’ve met my family?”

 

“Just now.”

 

“They’re very good to me. My dear Rena has found God, and it is important that we all have clean consciences.”

 

“Before I get married,” Rena adds.

 

Her fiance says nothing.

 

“You must do what you feel is right,” Yuuri concedes. “It is my pleasure to alleviate your concerns. And I understand it is every bride’s wish to have a beautiful wedding.” He stands by the front passenger door.

 

Sisko hands his daughter the keys. “I’ll be in the front, actually.”

 

Yuuri holds his position a second longer, before bowing. “Yes. Is a stop in Yabiro acceptable?”

 

Sisko shrugs. “I suppose, if it has to be that way.”

 

Yuuri climbs into the back next to the large man who eyes him with hooded eyes. There is either too little or too much intelligence there. The locks on the door click shut.

 

Yuuri breathes in the smell of leather seats and plastic, reminding himself that this is a job only he can do.

 

\--

 

The step sequences must be carefully performed. He hurries into the shop in Yabiro, shaking hands with the stranger who he had emailed the night before. The ring is perfect, a solid weight in the kingpin’s hand. Gold. It reflects his face and private smile.

 

The clerk gives him a wink before accepting the cash. 

 

“If you could do one more thing for me, please call this number and pass a message on to Takeshi Nishigori. Tell him his friend is leaving Yabiro and will call later.”

 

He puts the velvet case in his pocket. The gold ring is sheltered, its container knocking sides with a closed switchblade. To wield gold, one must sometimes hide it. 

 

The gas station comes next, with Yuuri flashing more yen out. It proves to him once and for all just how involved the two people he had not planned for are. Greed is a powerful motivator and when Yuuri watches the way his wealth catches the stares of the pair, he resigns himself. 

 

Commits himself.

 

Prepares himself.

 

The jump comes next. They think him weak and malleable. He can be that for them. He thinks of himself that way, sometimes. The road winds along as Rena drives them farther and farther from Hasetsu. Clouds leave distorted shadows on hills spiked in evergreens. Valleys slash the landscape like the cut up Yuri Plisetsky’s arm. Traffic is light and talk is minimal. Yuuri stares out the window at the guardrails that protect the little cars from the cliffs below. Rivers wink at him. Trains flit through tunnels parallel to the road, passengers seeing everything and nothing all at once.

 

In Nagahoma, there is no bank with a secret wealth as deep as these embankments. The three with Yuuri are looking forward to their new lives. And perhaps, if they squander those, they think they can always return for another stab at the podium. 

 

Because Yuuri is there.

 

His last combination. Tricky. Unpracticed. A lot of risk, but he has the stamina for it. The stomach. 

 

He feels no emotion the moment he moves. 

 

They all see gold.

 

\--

 

Every performance leaves him out of sorts in the aftermath. The kiss and cry.

 

There is no kiss...or he would get blood on his lips. No cry. He has nothing in him for that. It is overcast now. The clouds billow in, gathering around the peaks like a dress. They skirt about, spotty in how slate their grey gets. It could rain. It might not.

 

Just over one of those hills is a deeper smudge of black. A scar of smoke polluting an otherwise scenic landscape. Yuuri stands at the window of the hotel breathing in the humid afternoon air. He can see the distant fire. Taste it, even after the shower.

 

Celestino, the Detroit kingpin Yuuri had worked under in the days leading up to Ice, had a saying about killing others: more practice, less shellshock. 

 

He is woefully out of practice, and blames the shellshock for how he only recalls bits and pieces. During his skates, he could rely upon the replays to bring those memories back. There should be no recordings of what came today, though. Not if Yuuri did things correctly.

 

He removes his glasses and that removes his ability to see the distant black plume of burning gas. His senses revert to the smell of moist mountain air. The supper being prepared by the hotel on the floor below. 

 

The fragrance of meat.

 

Blood and burnt rubber. The friction of bone catching slick on the knife. That’s right. He had stabbed the man he never learned the name of and the weapon had gotten stuck on a bone. But he needed that weapon free to control the others, so he fought it loose and then continued to leak over Sisko while he held the slippery weapon against the soft flesh of a throat.

 

Yuuri shuts his eyes. This removes the haze of outside’s green and grey and lets him feel acutely the sting of the stitches he had sewn into his hand. The ache of his feet from the hours of hiking to reach civilization. His clothes are sodden from the stream he had used to make himself presentable, so he has them hanging.

 

The staff thinks he is a foolish tourist, fished from a nearby river. But wet money is still accepted and they never noticed the bloody hand dripping into the shelter of his bag. Takeshi will bring clothes when he arrives. He can confirm Yuuri’s handiwork on the stitches and punch him a few times to knock events and sense and emotion back into his friend’s head.

 

Takeshi is late, though. Understandable, if authorities have closed the road.

 

Yuuri considers turning back to the bottle of cheap vending machine liquor he had used as a disinfectant. Perhaps a swig will let him nap. His adrenaline is pitching and falling. He had almost succumbed to a nap in the forest. He is not tired now.

 

Beside the bed sits the velvet case, miraculously dry and only minimally stained.

 

Yuuri’s continued examination of it it is interrupted by a honk from the parking lot. He slips his glasses back on to catch a familiar vehicle turning off the road. One of the Nishigori cars. 

 

He grins, almost serene at the end game coming close.

 

He stops when it is not Takeshi who exits.

 

Yuuri’s brow presses against the cool window glass, his exhale either a sound of disappointment, or amusement. He really can’t name which. Of course he should not be surprised to see Viktor when and where he shouldn’t.

 

Viktor spots him, the Russian noting the naked torso before waving. He makes haste with entering.

 

Yuuri rubs at his face with his unhindered hand before he goes to unlock the door.

 

“Yuuri! I drove by myself all the way...what did you do to your arm?”

 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Yuuri counters, holding up the doorway.

 

“Oh, you know how it is. The triplets know everything and I asked what you were doing, and they said it was secret work.”

 

“Secret for a reason,” Yuuri mutters. 

 

“Yes. And I had to see it for myself.”

 

Yuuri raises a brow. “See what?”

 

Viktor closes the door behind him and then braces himself on the kingpin. “I wanted to see if you really were a killer.”

 

“Guilty,” Yuuri murmurs, taking on Viktor’s weight and meeting his stare with his own. He is worn, quite honestly. His concept of reasonable control is shaky now, but he asks regardless, “Does that disappoint you?”

 

Viktor drops his gaze, but only to focus on the injured hand. “Yuuri, I haven’t killed anyone myself. But my efforts have destroyed others. Someone who was in love with me did end their life because of Yakov’s blackmail. And...because of my betrayal, too. I have stood in the peripherals of many acts of violence. I know what kind of world we work for. And you have told me before, taking the lives of those in town is a last resort.”

 

“This was.”

 

“Yes. Sisko would have always come to this. But you being the one…”

 

Yuuri watches Viktor inspect the red lines of swollen skin. He says simply, “I think it is important to oversee the ugly work. And if things go poorly, I know my arrest would not jeopardize the town. I know my death wouldn’t hurt the organization, though before you give me  _ that _ look, I will add that I have things to live for. You included. You  _ especially _ . I intend to get my value for that.”

 

Viktor snorts, cradling the injury. His cheeks have tinted. “Alone, though?”

 

“Would you have been bothered by an audience when you were...performing?”

 

“You don’t refer to skating.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Then you have made your point, Yuuri. I suppose your audience will not be around to criticise you.”

 

Yuuri’s fingers twitch as he attempts to flex them. “I can assure you that it was graceful and perfectly executed.”

 

“I believe you.” Viktor’s thumb caresses Yuuri’s palm. “Do you need anything?”

 

“A ride home.”

 

“I meant your needs after what you have done,” corrects the Russian. “I am assuming this is not your first time. What do you do to deal with the fact that a person is no longer alive thanks to you? There must be something, because I know killers. The ones that find no outlet are dead inside. Without passion. You aren’t like them, Yuuri. It was why I came when I heard.”

 

“I am responsible. For the town. For you. I will protect what’s mine. The money isn’t the point. What I do keeps my friends, my family from living in fear. Those counting on me. I kill for that.”

 

Viktor leans down to kiss at fingertips, the act softening his rebuke. “You avoided my question.”

 

Yuuri could end this conversation. He waits for the creeping caution. The niggling anxiety; his old friends, his old problems that haunt his heart and head, but right now they do not come. Instead, he finds himself pleased that the ring he bought is in the open and Viktor has not once looked beyond Yuuri. He likes the liberties Viktor’s taken just now, replacing Takeshi. If Viktor does not listen to orders it is disobedience for Yuuri’s sake. 

 

“I used to unwind with Ice,” he says at last. “Not a lot. It took me back to skating. To remembering you. After, I could always focus on the details of your…” Yuuri sucks in his lower lip. “The posters. Yours, in my room. And when the memories of what I had done came back, I would be too numb to think.”

 

“The girls said you quit,” Viktor replies. “You have one of the writers in town testing the batches of Ice, now.”

 

Yuuri nods. “That is so. With the real deal, I’m no longer the best judge of Ice’s quality.”

 

Viktor looks through light lashes at his boss. “Then if you don’t plan to unravel with Ice after this experience…”

 

“It was convenient you came to me,” Yuuri answers. He slowly closes his fist. Nerves protest, yet he rewards them by capturing Viktor’s fingers in his. “I want to remind myself of what I keep for these sacrifices. Would you...get on the bed?”

 

Viktor takes his free hand and runs it through Yuuri’s hair, still wet from the shower. Perhaps he does like it slicked back. “I will certainly get on the bed. Is there anything you want?”

 

Yuuri steps backwards into the room. The bed has blue and green patterns on its sheets, dulled by a sunless window. Gently led by a hand, Viktor follows. 

 

"I want to do the work," Yuuri says. "I want to see how you react."   
  
It may be hard for Yuuri to explain. After a murder, the victims stop moving. And there is something perverted in the lifelike likeness of cadavers. Warm, real, but disturbingly nonreactive. Those images are what will haunt Yuuri in the days to come. But Viktor is his, and that is a body that wants what Yuuri can give. 

 

He has never done this before. Yuuri has never tried to fuck his way through the heady apathy that follows a fatal confrontation. He is not remorseful. Distantly, he regrets the mistakes that he had made in the car. The close calls. The amateur actions. But straddling the Russian who doesn't judge him, Yuuri marvels with an odd clarity of how underserved this is.   
  
Viktor came all this way out to see Yuuri. To see if Yuuri is capable of crimes against life.    
  
_ I'm not myself, _ the Japanese man notes. Odd how this is made clear when he looks down at what he wants. There is no excitement, just a sense that this is how it is. How they are meant to be. 

 

This critical frankness will fade. In a matter of hours Yuuri will sense this lucidity collapse under the weight of itself. He will be hit by a wave of emotions, swept up and carried away. The nightmare fever dream. The talons of addiction, as his hormones recall how they used to handle such shock.   
  
"This isn't...sane," he says. It might be a kindness to warn Viktor.   
  
But the Russian smiles. It is kind, too. "This is yours to define," he suggests. "Show me what you want me to want."   
  
"I want you to be mine," Yuuri states. Full certainty. And then he sprawls down, mouth seeking and hands pinning. Body pressing with insistent friction.   
  
He immediately notes how Viktor reacts to the aggression. Hips come up. Lips part. Yuuri grinds the other's waist down, moving from mouth to jaw. To earlobe. To artery. He marks, because he owns. He marks each part that he had admired on his posters of old. All with a single mindedness that apparently surprises the Russian.   
  
"Oh...ah--ohhhh, fuck!" keens Viktor.   
  
Yuuri's not sure whether to cup behind Viktor's neck or to dig into his pants. It delights him that he can choose. That he could do both with some planning. He starts with the hair, fisting soft strands at the base of Viktor’s skull. To Viktor's neck Yuuri huffs, "where are you weakest?"   
  
A laugh, nervous. Amused. "I don’t...I like...I like you setting the...pace. Use me, Yuuri. How would you use..."   
  
"That’s not the question,” snorts Yuuri. “But...you sure are loyal for...someone who doesn't stay where I put you," he scolds.   
  
"And it got me...where I wanted to be," Viktor gasps. "I'm yours and you really...really need to take advantage of that."   
  
"S'what we are doing..."   
  
"Fu..." Viktor grips at the blankets beneath him. "You don't get it. I want--nnng--all the jobs you're on. I want you...when you are a mess. I want...Yuuri. I want to see you making the decisions no one else sees you make."   
  
Yuuri's mouth has reached a collar bone. He sucks in a breath, unsure of the emotion he feels. If he can express it…

 

Oh fuck. Yuuri only realizes that the ring had been forgotten until now. “You are...a dangerous...distraction. You’re dangerous...Viktor. To me.”

 

_ “Oh--” _

 

Yuuri reaches blindly for the box, pulling hair as he disentangles from Viktor’s head. Digging with a throbbing hand for another head. Another throbbing…“You’re lucky I like you. Viktor...Viktor please wear this…”

 

Sweet. Slightly crazed and desperate. Viktor turns his head to watch the small box snap open. The velvet is Yuuri’s kind of blue. And inside…

 

That gold can only be meant for Viktor. “Is this…”

 

Quick as it had been glimpsed, the shyness is gone. Yuuri straightens, pinning Viktor’s thighs down yet again. There are plumes of smoke in his eyes, and knife sharpness glimpsed in teeth that drag over a tongue. Yuuri starts fires in Viktor’s soul when he changes. “I know what I want. Listen carefully.” 

 

There is only one answer for that. “ _ Yes _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to [Maiden_of_the_Moon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon) for adding lines to the sex scene in this chapter and especially the next. 
> 
> But all speeling eros are mine. Sorry about taht.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much of this -- the poetic, beautiful, artful, magic parts -- was drafted by [Maiden_of_the_Moon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon). On her profile you'll find far smoother smut and beautiful YOI. Just saying. I try very hard to keep up but if you want the gold medal stuff, that's where you'll find it.

Viktor knows the sort of men that he works beneath. They are scammers, and pimps, and murderers. They are power-hungry and half-crazed. They are, in a word, evil.   
  
Yuuri is evil.   
  
"P-plea...please...!"   
  
The Russian honey trap -- now caught in a trap himself -- can barely get the word out, barely find the breath. Viktor's cheeks are flushed; his eyes are glassy. His long fingers, naturally pale, appear positively bloodless against the ratty green blanket, his knuckles alabaster white where he scrabbles and claws and clutches his fists in rumbled eiderdown.   
  
Mattress springs squeal.  _ He _ squeals. He gasps, throat exposed and voice cracking:   
  
_ "Pl-- ple... as--!" _   
  
"No."   
  
The answer comes -- fuck, no, terrible word choice, just  _ awful _ , god  _ dammit -- _ on the tail end of a sigh, his Master frustratingly coherent and maddeningly collected as he bounces on his plaything's lap. Up and down and up and down, Viktor's cock sliding in and out and in and out with the same licentious ease as the fingers that Yuuri has worked inside of him. The kingpin's spine has formed a beautiful arch -- elegant, erotic, with a prima dona's commitment to form -- as he works Viktor into himself and himself into Viktor, grinding simultaneously where he wants to  _ and _ where he needs to.   
  
His Master has never bottomed before. Ever. But then, Viktor isn't sure he would call this "bottoming."   
  
"Yu-- Yuuri,  _ Christ _ , I--! Oh God, oh God--"   
  
Yuuri smiles: As sharp as a blade, as cold as ice. The moment that his pretty lips lift, Viktor feels his stomach drop.    
  
He sees himself in that smirk.    
  
He sees the devil.    
  
"My orders were perfectly clear," the evil, evil creature atop the Russian's hips husks, his lids hooded low and his voice lower still. Lower, lower,  _ deeper _ , and then-- "The ring doesn't come off... until I  _ get _ off."

 

It is self preservation that drives Viktor to the tricks of his past. It is a testament to Yuuri’s power that sees Viktor struggling despite his skill. His experience. He whines, the sound strangled and incoherent. Vulnerability is a ploy that teases those in power and Viktor certainly is vulnerable. This is no act.

 

He arcs. He pleads. He scrabbles more against the sheets, his body exposed and the heavy weight of gold gleaming -- oppressing -- garnishing him. It would be the kindest thing in the world for Yuuri to touch him there.

 

There is no point in trying to communicate that, for Yuuri already knows. How did that curse go? He danced to it once. A three-fold enchantment: may you live in interesting times; may you come to the attention of those in power; may you get everything you wish for.

 

He asked to be used.

 

Yuuri uses him. Yuuri keeps using him, possessing Viktor’s insides. His heat. His broken cries as wave after wave of agonizing need washes over the Russian. The younger man has more stamina, and abuses it. And when the Russian dares to look through tear-stained lashes, he catches the monster staring back. A tongue slips out. A corner of mouth creeps up. The thrusts thrust harder.

 

Yuuri is a killer. And each second he is killing Viktor.

 

God help him, but he loves this. He loves the torture, where he has the ring he always wanted. He wants it off so bad. 

 

“Say you’ll never leave,” Yuuri grunts. Growls. Groans. “ _ Say… _ ”

 

“I’m...I’m…” not strong enough to leave. Not you. “Please, Yuuri-- _ ple _ …”

 

Yuuri doubles over, bracing on Viktor’s tense arms and the noise he makes silences the suffering Viktor, if only to sear the sound to memory. Heartbeat in ears. Trembling. Trembling. And then Yuuri picks up on the question that is lost in a keen. He rolls free, slow but deliberate. Careful fingers grace gold and the kingpin plucks the ring off of Viktor’s cock in one clean movement.

 

Viktor warbles.

 

Yuuri admires what’s his. The ring. The Russian. “You can cum now,  _ but… _ ” the rebuke is as sharp as a slap. “No hands.”

 

“Ffffff….fuck. Please?”

 

Yuuri clings to his control, even after spending himself. The ring touches his lips as his eyes glint. Half-demanding and half-dead. Still dangerous. The glasses have been lost somewhere in the sheets but the Japanese man can still see what’s close: 

 

Viktor, splayed on the bed with his fairy-hair a mess. His skin is bone pale where it is not flushed, or bruised. The reds of those areas bloom, blood on the inside. Swelling on the inside, where it belongs. Where it collects because of what Yuuri has done. Trousers are bunched around ankles, knees trying to fight open. Expand, but Yuuri’s legs are entangling and not eager to help. 

 

The Russian covers his mouth and squirms. Free in some ways, though that excludes his faculties. “Ohhhh. Son of a bitch... _ fuck… _ ”

 

Unable to touch, to rub, he covers his mouth and  _ writhes _ . His salvation comes from the only place it should -- Yuuri’s smirk, which is selfish and devoid of pity. It is greedy. It is delighted. It is perfect, and it is ultimately enough.

 

Viktor’s voice catches on his own climax. His thighs twitch and he throws his head back, showcasing abs that contract with uneven breathing. Muscles now stained with more than sweat. 

 

This is more real than any fantasy harboured over the long weeks. 

 

“How many orgasms have you faked in your other life?” Yuuri asks. It could be a cruel question, but there is something eager in the other’s tone. It is a set up. 

 

Viktor inhales before confessing. “S...some. Many.” His eyes try to focus. They try and they fail. Yuuri is a blur that maintains his intensity. Good God.

 

Yuuri may be living off of the buzz that Viktor’s feeling. A vampire. Something more or less human. Who had the Japanese man slept with before to be this demanding? “You never will pretend with me.”

 

“I have no concerns on that...that front. You were...wow.”

 

Yuuri grins. “I liked this. You. Me going first. Get used to second place, Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

Viktor coughs. A laugh, hideous compared to how he prefers to compose himself. He doesn’t care, reaching meekly for Yuuri’s lapel. His Master kept his shirt. The fabric is grounding. The world is spinning. He came to be the solid one for Yuuri to lean on, and now he is high. Drunk. Helpless. “How’d you get so…”

 

Yuuri plants his forehead against Viktor’s while he seeks out fingers to join his own. The cock ring nestles in their palms. “You’re my first. You’ve given me a lot of time to think of this.”

 

“I’m seduced,” slurs the Russian. 

 

\--

 

They doze, the sleep ending when a set of glasses crunch when the pair adjust their spooning to fix numb arms.

 

“Damn.”

 

“I’ll be your eyes.”

 

“Will you?”

 

“You look beautiful.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

They share a shower, Yuuri washing the sex from his lover. It is a chaste engagement compared to the act that had soiled them. Kisses are stolen between careful care on hair and recent wounds. Viktor leaves to bring food back to the room. Yuuri makes a single call to Takeshi in that time.

 

He learns that Yuri Plisetsky had been relatively behaved. Particularly after meeting the triplets, the three fangirls having an easy time of dragging him to a bengal cat cafe in the neighboring village. Mari had informed the mechanic on their payroll to confirm that she had received an email from Sisko about his car requiring service in the last week. There will be records made of her suggesting he not drive it before coming in for repairs. And those in town who might be most bothered by the “accident” were being discreetly monitored.

 

Yuuri himself monitors Viktor. The Russian’s every move is appreciated. Yuuri doesn’t mean to fall asleep first, desiring to finally see how the other looks throughout the night. That wish, of course, has nothing to do with the possibility that the sex might not have outpaced the emotional backlash of a premeditated murder. Yuuri could still relive the crime in dreams while he decompresses. The guilt that normal, sane,  _ good _ people have might catch him with his guard down.

 

Yuuri doesn’t want Viktor to see that. He doesn’t want the other to tell him about the things he is blind to. Yet he also doesn’t recall the descent into unconsciousness. Cannot control it. The television is on. Viktor is without a shirt. 

 

Then it is dark. Troubling. And the Russian is applying a cold compress to Yuuri’s brow and singing softly in Russian. The lost time is terrifying. Yuuri chokes on the revelation that he is exposed and far from any semblance of understanding or control, and Viktor is fixing it. 

 

Viktor is fixing it.

 

Viktor is holding him. “You can cry,” he says, planting a kiss against Yuuri’s ear.

 

It makes the Japanese man laugh. It took longer than he thought, but he’s still in the routine. The dance, with the complicated moves. The spins. The jumps. The consequences of not being right for this. Not being ready. For trying while out of practice. And now, the kiss and cry. The fucking kiss and cry, with the only one who knew all along that Yuuri was not ready.

 

He laughs.

 

Or sobs.

 

It’s the same thing.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not,” murmurs the Russian. “I regret nothing. Tell me you regret nothing.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

Viktor tightens his hold. “You are so rough on my heart, Love.”

 

“You were...singing? What was the song?” sniffles the snagged blind man. The moon creates a haze against the curtains. Everything else is washed in hues of it, swallowed by steadier, stormier shadows. They bleed together. Everything bleeds together. He focuses on anything else.

 

“An old song. About a lover who parts and promises to return in the spring. They do indeed meet again then, but the one who left returns with a bride. It is sad. I shouldn’t sing it when you are telling me you regret this.”

 

“I...no. I don’t. I don’t regret you. Us.”

 

“There’s the sensible one,” praises Viktor, granting one more kiss.

 

“I don’t want this to be a fling.”

 

“I would die for you, Yuuri.”

 

“Please don’t.”

 

Viktor kisses him again. “What do you need of me, then?”

  
Yuuri swallows. “Stay with me.”


	4. Chapter 4

The new day brings damp pavement and an eager sun. Yuuri cannot drive with cracked glasses so he climbs into the passenger seat. 

 

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but I am not properly licensed.”

 

“You can drive, though?”

 

“Got here by myself, didn’t I? Keep the car between the lines. The triplets showed me.”

 

“They’re not old enough to drive.”

 

“Combine their ages and they’re legal.”

 

Yuuri buckles in, the first inklings of caffeine rousing him. That, or probably sensible terror at how he’s going to see another crash. One with him in the vehicle when it rolls over a cliff. He represses a shudder, recalling some details quite vividly from the other day. He would rather recall more of the night before.

 

He does remember the lullaby. 

 

Viktor guns the engine far louder than an accomplice to a local murderer should. “If we are stopped, they’ll never suspect us of the other thing.”

 

The grin the Russian casts is playful. Yuuri had briefly forgotten how his companion had tried to start at the bottom of the crime organization. Or, the look stands out because most of Viktor’s smiles today have been careful. Wary. He reaches over and touches Viktor’s knee. “Last night was not a fling,” he assures. “You’re invaluable to me.”

 

The grin falters. “Yuuri, about that--”

 

“You deserve to know how much you mean to me,” interrupts the kingpin. He presses forward with the next bit before he can change his mind. “Viktor, we’ve been selling Ice to Yakov for months.”

 

Viktor blinks, counting back. “No, that can’t be right. Yakov was looking into your drug in case he lost revenue from his own properties.”

 

“Yakov has the exclusive rights to Ice coming into Europe,” Yuuri replies. “I gave him that.”

 

Seconds pass. “To keep me,” reasons the other.

 

Yuuri shakes his head. “No one was ever going to come after you. I mean, aside from Plisetsky. But he didn’t know about our deal.”

 

“I  _ chose _ to leave,” Viktor corrects. “I wasn’t happy and I…oh...”

 

Yuuri listens more than he can see Viktor chase the revelation to its conclusion. 

 

“Georgi. He knew I’d overhear him talking about...son of a bitch. Yakov  _ did _ do it!”

 

The Japanese kingpin cautiously withdraws his hand. “Are you upset?”

 

“It explains a few things. It explains...everything, actually. The timing of the lecture. My break from assignments. But... _ you _ started it?”

 

Yuuri nods. “It was selfish, and I really did expect your first move was to seduce me. But you were not at all what I expected.”

 

“You sold yourself short,” chastises Viktor. “You have that habit, but I like you best when you take what you want.”

 

“You’re not angry, then?”

 

“I’m doing the calculations in my head. Exclusive rights to Ice is a lot of money for Yakov. Practically a blank cheque. I’m...touched he considered me worth that much.”

 

Yuuri relaxes when he sees the other grin and straighten proudly behind the wheel. “You’re worth every yen, Viktor. Every ruble. More in gold. So please know that this is not a minor relationships with me. And please don’t crash so we can continue what we started.”

 

“Command me not to crash and I’ll consider it,” teases the Russian.

 

“I own you. So don’t damage yourself. I own the car too, so don’t scratch it.”

 

Viktor drives as well as Yuuri suspects. He is easy to distract -- learned very quickly when Yuuri brushes Viktor’s knee and more than the other’s heart swerves -- so their travel becomes quiet. Somber, even, as they pass the embankment from yesterday’s crash. Traffic has been limited to one lane with officials guiding vehicles through a queue. Someone has placed flowers on the side of the road. The air still smells of gasoline and rubber.

 

The ninja house finally comes into view when Viktor breaks the silence. “What are your plans for Yuri, if I may ask?”

 

“He goes home empty-handed. We get over our headaches from his bitching. Why?”

 

“Yakov has plans for him. They’re not so different from my former vocation.”

 

Yuuri mulls over the information. “Yakov’s business is not my concern,” he ultimately decrees.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Would you propose otherwise?” the Kingpin inquires, sensing disappointment from Viktor.

 

The other’s mouth is a thin line. He turns and the car veers only slightly. “I don’t know what I would propose. I had thought -- and naturally, I know now that it will not work -- that you could approach Yakov with a trade deal for Ice. But you’ve already done that.”

 

“Is he worth what you’re worth?”

 

Viktor harrumphs. “I know you sell yourself short. It is a trait I have, as well. At least in terms of value and human life. I have a lot of sins on my ledger and it’s only becoming acceptable now as I have that in common with you, Yuuri.”

 

“Are you saying we share that commonality with Plisetsky?”

 

“We do not.” The driver shakes his head. “The small tiger knows what he’s worth far better than either of us did, and he only needs someone to listen. No matter what happens to him, he’ll survive. He may even surpass me in my former occupation.”

 

“I can’t see it,” Yuuri murmurs. He scrunches his face and the cartilage in his nose throbs. 

 

“Ignore me,” Viktor excuses, slowing down for city speed limits. “It really is not my place to make such requests of you.”

 

Yuuri turns away, watching familiar houses approach. Roll by. He should accept the invitation to drop the thought. Bury it, like other unpleasant problems have been buried. Not everything goes silent when smothered, though. Yuuri had opened up to Viktor about his deal with Yakov because this relationship is important to him. Now, Viktor has reciprocated by opening up about something that concerns him. The kingpin cannot just ignore that.

 

Still. Yuri Plisetsky is a punk. A brat, who is loud, rude, and oblivious to the world around him. And he had tried to take Viktor away. 

 

Yuuri does not need that. He does not want that trouble to remain in his life. There is only one Russian that matters.

 

“We’re home,” sings said Russian. His smile is forced. 

 

_ That _ is a problem. 

 

Yuuri had left Hastesu to fix one complication, and he had been very productive; removing the Sisko threat, finally claiming Viktor, revealing the ring, and coming clean about his manipulations. It really is not fair to be home and finding what should have been a simple fix growing more complicated.

 

“I’m going for a run.”

 

“We should check your arm, Yuuri.”

 

“After.” Before Viktor can offer to accompany via bike, his boss adds, “I’m going on my own. I need time to think.”

 

\--

 

Yuri Plisetsky hates everything about this town.

 

Minus its closeness to the bengal cat cafe. He doesn’t hate that. Or the shop where he got his new tiger shirt. Nor the lion statues (he’s found four). And certainly not the rink, though the one at home is nicer.

 

But this place is not home. This audience at the Ice Palace does not pick him apart for flaws, or worse, his “strengths”. Some people just like to see a Salchow. 

 

And Yuuri Katsuki can’t do a quad, he’s learned. Fuck that guy. Yuri does many. He does them all day.

 

Yuuko jogs with him back to the hot springs and when he arrives, Viktor is sitting with the bastard at the pool. The kit they had used for Yuri’s stitches is out. 

 

“Hey Yurio! Look, you’re part of a set!” sings Viktor.

 

The kingpin winces at the comparison. Or because the alcohol swabs hurt. What a wuss.

 

“Don’t compare me to him,” the youth snaps. “I hate this place.”

 

“Mari left you a pork cutlet bowl in the kitchen,” Viktor replies, unphased.

 

“It’s probably poisoned,” Yuri huffs, slamming the door and leaving the pair to their naked swimming. The food poisoned or not, he still goes off to find it. If it kills him, he won’t have to reply to any of Yakov’s long emails. He knows how to avoid international incidents and mob wars so the old man can shut it. If the crazy-bitch sister puts him out of his misery, it won’t be his fault.

 

At least he won’t have to grow up and do stupid fucking seductions.

 

Nor...see his grandfather again.

 

Forget this place, Yuri hates  _ every _ place. 

 

He sulks into the kitchen to find the biggest bowl of pork cutlet waiting for him. A folded note says in sloppy Russian: ‘ _ try not to choke and die’  _ and there is a picture of a cat regurgitating a hairball.

 

The sound he makes is likely reminiscent of such an act. The young Russian swallows back further noises, grateful that no one is present to see him lose his composure. He eats most of the meal by himself before he’s certain he’s not going to cry. Then he sneaks out to check the main room in case Yuuko is still there.

 

\--

 

Yuuri rolls over and feels the warm body beside him. “Hmmmm, Viktor,” he sighs.

 

Viktor replies by licking a stripe up Yuuri’s face. Warm and wide and wet. And for good measure, the Russian repeats the intimate gesture. 

 

“What--? Gross!” Yuuri opens one eye, the other still under attack. It is not Viktor slopping up his face, which is a relief. “Makkachin, stop.  _ Stop it!” _

 

While that answers one quandary, Yuuri is left to muddle over what part of his brain would associate the pup with the Russian. Especially as the pup is obedient, reducing his excitement to just a happy tail. It flops where the Japanese man had last left his lover. The other side of the bed is empty.

 

Yuuri reaches for his new glasses, fumbling them onto a sticky face in order to read his clock. It’s after three.

 

The silence is...not silent. There is someone singing.

 

His second night home after taking care of Sisko had Yuuri privately concerned that he’d continue to have the nightmares. Viktor had joined him under that pretense, promising to help Yuuri if they resumed. The tune lilting through the walls is indecipherable, yet the melody is similar to what Viktor had sung for him.

 

The song about someone leaving.

 

Then someone shouts.

 

Yuuri steps out of bed, surrendering the warm spot to Makkachin. When he slides the bedroom door open, he can tell which room has the commotion.

 

Yuuri wishes he knew Russian. 

 

The speakers do try to keep their voices down, but Yuri is pissed off and Viktor is taking no hints, overbearing the other with innocent beguiling. Their eavesdropper cocks his head for further clues. 

 

Makkachin whines before Yuuri learns more, and the voices stop.

 

The kingpin holds himself very still. Which is ridiculous, he realizes. This is  _ his _ home and they are too loud. If they had not woken him up, it would have been someone else disturbed by the pair. 

 

Still, there is something shameful in being caught spying.

 

Viktor murmurs in soft English, “You’ll keep having bad dreams until you accept it.”

 

“Nobody asked you, pig fucker.”

 

Viktor says something back, this time in Russian.

 

_ “Get out.” _

 

Yuuri backs into his room, not bothering to shut the door. He hears another down the hall slide open. Slide close. Then Makkachin is jumping off the bed to greet his owner. 

 

“Good dog,” whispers the Russian.

 

“I overheard,” Yuuri murmurs.

 

“Ignore him,” Viktor replies. “Your weight is fine.  _ I _ like it.” 

 

Yuuri smacks the Russian’s hands from his belly. “That’s fine...I mean, bad dreams?”

 

“There’s a lot of that going around,” hums Viktor. He gently shuts them in. “I need to find a better lullaby to sing.”

 

“Why doesn’t he just run away if he hates going back?”

 

“Family. Friends. Skating.” Viktor shrugs. “There’s collateral.”

 

“You’re playing me.”

 

Eyebrows rise. “I would never!”

 

Yuuri scowls. “You spoke in English so I’d understand.”

 

“It’s not my place to tell you how to run your business,” Viktor repeats. “As it stands, though your whole family does not like him, which you’ve noticed too, I bet. He’s despised only moreso by the Nishigoris. He offers no assets to the town. He risks stealing me away…”

 

Viktor stops only when Yuuri grabs his pajama top and pulls it to his level. “You keep talking and talking and talking.”

 

“I’ve been known to do that,” murmurs the other. It is not apologetic.

 

“Then talk about something that’s useful,” Yuuri retorts. “What is he worth to Yakov?”

 

Viktor gives Yuuri’s cheek a kiss. “You’re very generous. And...ugh.  _ Hair _ ...”

 

“My other Russian was eager to take your place. Maybe I’ll let him.”

 

“Makkachin?! _ Bad dog! _ ”

 

Yuuri takes his glasses off, dropping onto the bed. “Lie down. Whisper some secrets into my ear.”

 

“I’m here to obey,” promises Viktor, obeying for what might be the first time tonight.

 

\--

 

It is strange having the triplets in his room. They had promised their mother they would behave, so it’s going about as well as Yuuri had expected. The girls have already found the posters he had kept hidden from even Viktor. And Viktor  _ had _ tried looking after learning about them.

 

“I will pay you for this one,” Axel pleads. “It’s a limited edition Nikiforov ad!”

 

“You don’t have enough money,” Yuuri replies tonelessly. 

 

The three who handle much of the Katsuki finances level Yuuri with a look. 

 

“Okay, if this goes well, you can use my account to order one from the internet. But you have to be good.”

 

“We’re always good,” sniffs Loop.

 

“We’re not idiots, uncle,” Lutz chimes in. “We know what’s at stake.”

 

“Let’s make a call, then.”

 

He ignores how they conspire behind him about how hei would be wiser to ask just how much the poster is worth.

 

“If he signs it, we can resell it and buy  _ three _ more!” comes hushed whispers.

 

The chatter quells when the call is finally picked up. Yuuri situates his laptop facing him. “Yakov. Is this a bad time?”

 

“I’ve been expecting your call,” greets the other. Behind the Russian is a grey office. It is very early in St. Petersburg, but Yuuri knows the other goes to coach his students around this time. “I hope Plisetsky has not broken anything else?”

 

“He’s the reason I’m calling, actually. I’m wondering if the offer of you paying me to keep him was still available?”

 

Yakov chuckles. “I will certainly cover any damages, food and board, and expenses he has accrued. If you have tired of him, I’ll arrange his transportation home. And certainly a little more for your patience.”

 

Yuuri nods. “You’re very kind. I have had a change of heart, though.”

 

“Is that so?” The other betrays nothing in saying this. Yuuri again respects the experience of the other. In a way, Yakov is like Sisko. No stranger to the game. Capable of making things easier or harder for Yuuri’s family. Unlike Sisko, he will not be removed. And he will not underestimate the far younger kingpin. Coaches are dangerous like that. He likely has looked into all of Yuuri’s strengths and weaknesses. 

 

And there are a lot of weaknesses. Yakov’s been very kind in their dealings.

 

Which is why Yuuri brought help.

 

He moves the laptop so it now views his bed as well. “If I may explain, it will require I first introduce you to some associates. I hope you do not mind.”

 

Axel, Lutz and Loop sit straight and they bow deeply when the screen settles upon them. Thankfully, the Viktor poster has been hidden away. 

 

“These are the Nishigori triplets, Yakov. They are fans of your work.”

 

“We are such fans!” Lutz gushes.

 

“There is no better coach in the world,” agrees Loop.

 

“We watch every one of your performers and it is obvious how Russia produces such high quality skaters,” finishes Axel.

 

Their appearance is uncharacteristic, but the Russian boss does appreciate a compliment. “Thank you girls. It is nice to hear I am so respected. So few of my own skaters understand as much, and I’ve never heard similar praise from Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

It is a jibe at his business partner that the girls pounce upon. “You know how skaters are,” Loop drawls.

 

“Hard to teach,” Axel adds. “Slow to learn, but they think they know everything.”

 

“You read my interview in Sport’s Illustrated,” Yakov grins. “How delightful. Tell me, are you the girls who had drafted the paperwork on the Vladivostok theft?” 

 

The trio nod. 

 

“It was thorough. Very helpful for us. I thank you.”

 

Yuuri drapes an arm over the back of his chair, signaling his intent to bring matters back to business. “Axel, Lutz and Loop are more than fans, Sir. They’re young but I have included them in our call because the future of our organization affects them. I’ve no doubt that they won’t inherit the business in a few years. No one in my family opposes the idea. We’re just waiting until they’re old enough to drive.”

 

“We can drive,” Loop mutters.

 

“Legally,” Yuuri counters before they reveal who  _ else _ they taught to drive. Yakov does not need that information.

 

“And what does this have to do with Plisetsky, I wonder?” asks Yakov, probably not wondering at all. “Did he happen to say anything?”

 

“Not to us,” Yuuri admits. “But he did speak to Viktor. And Viktor speaks to me.”

 

“I see.”

 

“So I do recognize that you have plans for him.”

 

“Our businesses are quite different, yours and mine,” says Yakov. “There are many different facets of what we do, both in Russia and elsewhere in the world.”

 

“I respect that,” Yuuri replies. “I also know that it would be impossible to put a price on future investments. They could be unsuccessful. Difficult and unpredictable. Or, in the long run, they could be priceless. And you’re familiar with our worth. We’ve only got Ice to offer.”

 

Yakov shifts, folding his large hands onto the surface ahead of him. “I do hope you’re not suggesting we renegotiate what we have, Yuuri. I had thought that was a done deal.”

 

“I would never be so rude,” Yuuri assures. 

 

“Then I am not sure what more you could say on the subject. I will admit that I said I would pay you to free me of Plisetsky’s tantrums, but that had been in jest, you understand.”

 

“I know,” nods the Japanese man.

 

“And I hope you haven’t brought children into this meeting to touch upon the heart of this old man. I know exactly what I am doing and I sleep with myself just fine at night. I will give you some advice for free, Yuuri Katsuki. You cannot get sentimental with your assets.”

 

“Your wisdom is greatly appreciated, Yakov Feltsman.” Yuuri tips his head. “I have not brought the girls here to manipulate you. They’re good at getting what they want without me, but I felt it was best to include them for the very reason that they’ll be replacing me at some point; inheriting what follows. And every decision I make will affect the value of what they are bequeathed. I am making such a decision right now.” Yuuri straightens, turning the laptop fully back onto himself. “Yakov Feltsman, in exchange for Yuri Plisetsky, I am willing to give you the methods to  _ create _ Ice.”

 

Yakov says nothing at first. The Japanese kingpin dutifully waits. Finally, “I’m listening.”

 

“Our operations are small compared to the resources at your disposal. For the last few months, I know you have enjoyed great success with your European monopoly, but you are limited with what we can produce and ship to you. If you had the knowledge to produce it yourself, you could cut us out completely. There’d be no ceiling to the value. Of course, I would very much like to continue contact with your organization as your wisdom and generosity has been invaluable. And we would insist that you keep your market strictly in Europe, which is still a prodigious territory.”

 

“Yuri Plisetsky is really worth that much to you?”

 

“The Nishigoris are fond of him,” Yuuri says. “They would like to see him pursue his skating career with all of his focus.”

 

“I see. And if he does, who would he represent?”

 

Yuuri shrugs, repressing a flush of triumph. If that is Yakov’s first question, they are closing the gap in their compromise. “Whomever he chooses to represent, I suppose. We can discuss that. He has a grandfather. I’ve learned that you are supporting his medical expenses. It would be no trouble for our family to take that responsibility on if you see no reason to continue it.”

 

Yakov brushes the offer aside. “Nikolai is a dear friend of mine. I will not barter for his health. It was never a question at all.”

 

“And Plisetsky would be able to visit him?”

 

“I certainly hope he would. If you are serious about this offer, it will at least save me the trouble of having to keep things from his guardian.”

 

Yuuri notes the irony of Yakov being sentimental about Nikolai, one of his assets. He does not point it out, saying instead, “I am serious.”

 

“Then I shall call you back by the end of the day with my terms. If you send a representative to show our people how to make Ice, I would want to be convinced that the product is the quality of what we have here. Nothing would be official until then.”

 

“That’s reasonable. I would estimate that it will take two weeks to set up a proper lab and to educate the people you choose.”

 

“We’d demand assurances that this is a process you’ve shared with  _ only us. _ ”

 

“There’s only one other person who knows how to make Ice and I can guarantee that he won’t be a problem. I trust him explicitly.”

 

“I hope you trust him more than you do Viktor,” Yakov murmurs. “He seems to have you wrapped around his finger.”

 

“This is my decision,” insists Yuuri.

 

“Of course it is,” Yakov smirks. “Heed my words on sentimental feelings, Yuuri. They should never be the reason you act in this business of ours. But I should not complain, seeing what is on the table. Ice is untapped potential.”

 

“Ice would not exist if it were not for sentimentalities,” Yuuri replies. “I’ll wait for your terms. We’ll draft our own for that time. When everything is in agreement, I’ll send the creator of Ice to Russia as early as tomorrow.”

 

“I look forward to our next call, Yuuri. And to you, future Nishigori bosses.”

 

“ _ Dosvedanya _ ,” the triplets call out as one.

 

Yuuri snaps the laptop closed and turns to the three. “I think that went--”

 

The girls are sitting with their arms outstretched. “Laptop.”

 

“Password.”

 

“Credit card.”

 

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “We just finished one task. Two seconds ago!”

 

“And now we’re on to the next,” scowls Axel. “You gotta keep your promises if you want people to do what you say.”

 

“And you can’t take breaks if there’s things to do.”

 

“Could you fetch us a drink, uncle? We’re working.”

 

Yuuri relinquishes his computer. “I’m going to the hot springs. Please don’t bankrupt the organization before lunchtime.” 

 

\--

 

Viktor is in the hot spring.

 

There are other patrons present, so Yuuri does not say anything about the call.

 

It seems he doesn’t need to. Viktor bites back a grin and then flops atop his boss. “You’re mighty generous.”

 

“No,” Yuuri drawls, tipping his head back. The sky is a perfect blue. “I do favours and charge interest.”

 

“Mmmm. I’m very bad at math. I’m sure you could abuse that and keep me in your debt for a lifetime.”

 

“I just might.”

 

Mari fetches him as he is leaving the pool to inform him that Yakov had called back. “Something about a contract. And the girls say they have a draft made up.”

 

“That fast,” Yuuri notes. “Tell mom and dad if you see them first that I’m going to Russia for a few weeks.”

 

“I’m not helping you pack,” she replies. “Is Yurio going with you or is he staying here?”

 

Yuuri shrugs. “Whatever he wants. Though why would you assume he’s staying?”

 

“The triplets. I think everyone knows about your deal.”

 

“But we haven’t solidified--”

 

_ “You idiot!” _

 

Both siblings turn to greet the accusatory finger of Yuri Plisetsky. He stalks forward, jabbing his hand into Yuuri’s chest.

 

Yuuri waits for his sister to defend him but she just cocks a brow. “I think he means to say ‘thank you.’”

 

“I did not ask for your help,” snaps the Russian.

 

Yuuri accepts the brunt of the finger in his chest. “Funny,” he retorts. “Because I don’t care what you want.”

 

“You got this,” Mari says, slapping Yuuri on the shoulder before she leaves him to fend for himself. It’s surprisingly easy. The flustered Russian is strangely adorable all of a sudden. 

 

“This changes nothing,” Yuri hisses. “You do not own me.”

 

“No, I don’t. The triplets do.” The Japanese kingpin throws a thumb back and on cue, Axel thunders down the stairs.

 

“Did you get our text, Yuri?”

 

“Yuri!” Loop joins her sister. “Are you going to stay here or go home?”

 

“Now that we own you, can you tell us about sex? Mom won’t until we’re older,” joins the final triplet. 

 

“I...what? No. That’s…”

 

Viktor materializes beside Yuuri, barely covered by a housecoat. His indecency is noticed by no one else as the drama surrounding the flustered Russian takes centre stage. “I told Lutz to ask him that,” he whispers proudly.

 

“How did you even know about any of this?” Yuuri replies, allowing himself to be pulled out the fray. “I only told the triplets.” 

 

“I’m not new to the game,” Viktor grins. The expression draws Yakov’s warning to the forefront of Yuuri’s mind. “One of the girls recorded the conversation so I could listen in. I won’t tell you which. I also know where you keep my pictures, now.”

 

“I have no idea who pulled the strings on this one,” Yuuri murmurs. “You? The triplets? I wouldn’t be surprised if Yakov hadn’t set this up from the beginning. Good God, I’m giving him Ice.”

 

“We’re close enough that our strings are entangled. I’m okay with this,” Viktor sings, taking Yuuri’s hand and squeezing it. “Yurio’s grateful. He just doesn’t know how to say it right now. And your family is happy. You do a lot for their happiness.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“So...are you happy?”

 

Yuuri gives Viktor’s hand one more squeeze before he lets go. He raises his voice over the cacophony of his family. His crew. Hell, even new, angry friends. “If I could have your attention, nothing is official until we agree on the details. Right now. I want to see this draft, and Yuri, you should be part of the discussion.”

 

“You don’t have to do any of this,” the punk grounds out.

 

“You’re adopted, deal with it,” Yuuri replies, unsympathetic. “Come see how much that’s going to cost me, and maybe work on your kowtowing.”

 

“I will punch you in the face,  _ Kat-sucky _ .”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Viktor cheers.

 

\--

 

Yuuri only reveals to Yakov that he is the one coming to set up operations once everything is formalized on paper. He had not planned to take Viktor or Yuri along, though the pair insisted.

 

“Won’t it be awkward, you going back?” he asks Viktor.

 

“I bet they miss me,” replies the former honey-trap. “And I would have missed you. Leaving me for two weeks is cruel.”

 

“Only an idiot goes to enemy territory without an escort,” Yuri mutters.

 

“Yakov and I are allies.”

 

“Until you give him what he wants,” huffs the boy. “You are so stupid.”

 

“It’s also possible that some of Yakov’s enemies may learn of the deal. It’s happened before,” Viktor says, far too brightly for such a morbid possibility. “You’re more valuable than you think.”

 

Fortunately, the delicate trip does not devolve into uncomfortable moments between Yakov and his former assets. Nor does anyone attempts to eliminate the Japanese kingpin, despite his most vocal bodyguard ditching him in order to visit his grandfather. Yuuri spends most of his time recreating the labs that he had jerry-rigged in his college days. Viktor serves as translator. 

 

It is on the odd occasion that he is without his lover that Yakov corners him. “I’ve been informed that we should have samples in the next few days.”

 

“We’ll have to test them and make adjustments. But yes.”

 

“Would you walk with me? I would love to show you the rink.”

 

Yuuri falls into step beside the other. He had found excuses to avoid the rink, though a direct invitation from one he could not order around is difficult to refuse. After his few days of skating with Viktor at home, Yuuri feels even more out of practise. He’d hate to think what the world class coach might say about his waning skill.

 

And as expected, the Russian mob boss wants to speak about the sport. “I was surprised when Lilia called me last night. It seems Plisetsky contacted her in order to study ballet.”   
  


“I didn’t know,” Yuuri admits. 

 

“He is old enough for the senior division. The Prix is within his reach.”

 

Once upon a time, that had been a dream Yuuri could appreciate. “You’ll coach him?”

 

“If he listens,” Yakov snorts. 

 

The venue appears closed, yet Yakov produces a key. The venue is large enough to easily fit a few Ice Castles inside. The silence is eerie. Or perhaps, the size takes Yuuri back. The stands stretch on. They rise up. 

 

“I wanted to ask if Viktor kept up with his skating,” Yakov continues.

 

“He often does.”

 

“And you?”

 

Yuuri casts the man a sidelong glance. “I am busy.”

 

“You’ll have more time for a little while. At least until you establish Ice in North America. Between you and me, though, I’d give it that extra wait. Not because it would give me a competitive edge. Word is that Interpol is asking some questions and I expect we’ll keep our own launch slow for some time.”

 

“I appreciate the head’s up.”

 

“You’re not past your prime,” Yakov notes. “You’ll have to work hard, but if you wanted to apply yourself I know you could give Yuri a run for his money. And nothing would piss him off more than being second string to you.”

 

“I’m not going back into skating,” Yuuri states, but it comes through a chuckle. Even he could entertain the idea of the punk throwing a tantrum at the unlikely possibility of being surpassed by the other Yuuri. “Why are you bringing this up?”

 

“Just to check,” shrugs the older man. “Someone put out odds of Viktor getting back into the game. They were very low odds, but something I would bet on. So I have. I am in no way asking you to help in that. Viktor does what Viktor does and we both know that now.”

 

“He is spending a lot of time with his former team,” Yuuri admits. “If he wants to return, I will only stipulate that he trains in Hasetsu.”

 

“There are...even smaller odds about you.”

 

“What?”

 

“Turns out your old friend, Chulanont, has been hinting on social media that he’s trying to get you onto his show.”

 

“Phichit.” Yuuri frowns. He had never told Yakov who the other person was who knew the composition and process of making Ice. 

 

Yakov smirks. “I do my homework. You were in college with him. I can’t trust having an exclusive ownership of a product like Ice if there are  _ any _ loose ends.”

 

“Phichit is not a threat,” Yuuri warns.

 

“I agree,” assures the man. “But I had to be sure. It is rare to have a friend so willing to keep such a valuable secret. He really does loves his ice show.”

 

“That’s all he ever wanted. He promised me his silence in exchange for funding, and now it funds itself. Anyone else might be tempted for more wealth, but that’s never been Phichit.”

 

“And you were the only two to develop it?”

 

Yuuri shakes his head. “There were others. They’re not around anymore.”

 

“It was looking up Chulanont that led to me finding the odds. I only bet on things I think are realistic. And for a bet with such long odds, you making it to Prix  _ is _ realistic. I say this as a coach. Listen to your nieces. I am one of the best in the world.”

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

“That’s all I ask.”

 

Despite that being the end of their discussion on that matter, Yuuri notes how his next meal is brought to him in smaller portions.

 

He texts Viktor.  _ If you are at Yurio’s, bring back piroshki. A whole bag please. _

 

 

It snows in Ottawa. Big, fat flakes. Sara Ades watches them fall through the slats of her office window. Then she checks her watch. Her secretary had called up to say her three o’clock had arrived.

 

It was now quarter-after.

 

Finally, there is a knock at her door.

 

She waves her visitor in. “Did you get lost?” she asks, standing to shake his hand.

 

He smiles brightly. “No. I ran into some fans. Your secretary is so nice. Stacy showed me photos of her at Skate Canada. And then we took some selfies.”

 

“Yes, that’s right. You’re pretty popular.”

 

“Which is why I’m here, right?” he grins, taking a seat. “I’ve had a few people use their jobs to get autographs. It’s really no problem…” He glances at the nameplate on her desk. “...Sara. I’ve got time for all my fans.”

 

She thinks she does a pretty good job of keeping her face blank. She’s worked too hard to risk losing her job over abusing her position. For frivolous autographs, no less. “You’re actually not here for that, Mr. Leroy.”

 

“Call me JJ.”

 

She sits down too. “Very well. JJ, we at the RCMP try to help Interpol as much as we can. And we’ve been asked to investigate a connection between figure skating and the drug trade.”

 

“I assure you, I’ve never used drugs in my life. Never needed to. What I do is pure talent.”

 

“You’re not under investigation,” Sara adds. “But you might know some of the skaters or coaches involved. It’s very hard to infiltrate the community without being a part of it already. We’ve been watching Russia very closely. Can you tell us anything about them?”

 

“Russia’s very good. They’re sometimes...distracted? I always give them a run for their money, though.”

 

“So you will be competing this year at the international level?”

 

“Guilty as charged. I’m winning the Grand Prix next season.”

 

“Would you consent to being an extra set of eyes? We can train you to look for certain things.”

 

“My fans will love learning that I am a spy for my country,” JJ drawls.

 

Sara clamps her molars down. “Okay, let’s...let’s start with why that is  _ not _ such a good idea.” Her phone rings. The line she can’t ignore. “I’m sorry JJ, I need to take this.”

 

He motions for her to do so, his attention still on how he may market this. Lovely...

 

“Ades here.”

 

“Hey Ades. It’s Stacy. Uh, Prime Minister’s here. He heard JJ’s stopped by. Can I send him up? Selfies and publicity and stuff?”

 

“This is a secret operation.”

 

“...yeah. Um. But can we?”

 

“Secret. Operation.”

 

“So...is that a no?”

 

Sara might be willing to lose her job after all. She hands the phone to JJ. “My secretary wants to talk to you.”

 

“Anything for my country,” he promises, glancing up from his own phone. From Twitter. “Hey, is ‘secret agent’ one word or two?”

 

“God save our land,” Sara murmurs. “Be strong, Sara. Be strong...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ends this hodge-podge of a fic. Thanks for sticking it out and for the kind words and patience. Apologies for the uneven chapter lengths.
> 
> I hope you can take heart that with JJ on the case...there's probably nothing Yuuri needs to worry about for awhile. ;)


End file.
